the closet
by kerrykins
Summary: "No one says her name like Miranda does, a plea, a demand, a poem of immeasurable beauty."


Andy doesn't know when this game of theirs began, nor why. She does know, however, that they can't stop it.

Miranda tried to stop it, they both did. But every moment they had alone, they couldn't help themselves. Sometimes Miranda would be the one to throw herself at Andy, sometimes it was vice versa. The one constant was that they'd cling to each other desperately, kiss each other everywhere, and bury their faces in each other's shoulders.

There's no smell sweeter than that of Miranda's perfume, no wine finer than that of the taste of Miranda's lips and tongue on hers. Her worth is incalculable, which has nothing to do with how much money she has. She supersedes everything Andy has ever known.

As of late, Miranda has been trying her best to ignore her, and as painful as it's been, Andy's been going along with it. She isn't sure how effective it is, though. She's caught Miranda looking at her from her office, thoughts written all over her face.

Andy can't get enough of the way Miranda looks at her, like she can't get enough of her, like she's something as special and essential as oxygen. Miranda Priestly, who finds pretty much everything lacking and disappointing, wants Andy. That knowledge makes Andy feel dizzy with pleasure.

So many nights she's gone home, touched herself, imagined that her own fingers were Miranda's, and arched into her hand with a small cry. It was so good, but not enough. She needed Miranda too, it wasn't just a one-way street.

Andy's been sent into the Closet by Emily to get something, a Dior skirt or something. She's flipping through the endless racks of clothing, an organised whirlwind of tulle, velvet, and organza. The sound of the hangers sliding across their metal rods fill the otherwise silent Closet, reminding Andy that she's completely alone. Or so she thinks, until she hears a throat clearing.

"Andrea," an unmistakable voice calls her, demanding her full attention. Acting purely on instinct, her eyes travel across the room, answering Miranda with a look she's sure is longing. No one says her name like Miranda does, a plea, a demand, a poem of immeasurable beauty.

As always, the sight of Miranda makes Andy's heart clench, and it has nothing to do with lust. Before Miranda, Andy thought she knew what love and lust was. Time and time again, she's been proven wrong, and Miranda so flippantly manages to defy all things that Andy thought were implausible. She thinks she's proved Miranda wrong, too.

Even from this distance, Andy can see exactly how hungry Miranda is. She's adept at reading her now. The older woman licks her lips, a dark flicker of want casting a shadow over her face. Her arms are folded behind her back, and she's trembling.

"Andrea," she repeats. Her breaths are coming out shallow and quick, chest rising and falling with each unsteady exhale.

Andy knows what to do next. She closes the space between them with a step, pressing her lips against the base of Miranda's neck.

"Oh," Miranda whispers. Her hands fumble their way onto Andy's waist. She's holding her breath now, whether it be in anticipation or fear, Andy isn't sure.

Miranda's skin is smooth like cream, and her mouth leaves red lipstick stains in its wake, blotting the perfect, pale skin.

Andy wants to take her time, wants to savour every moment of Miranda. Every part of her is crying for her to rush it, but she can't. After nearly a week without this, she can't afford to hurry.

"You-" Miranda swallows, and her grip tightens on the back of Andy's blouse. She tilts her head back, clearing an easier path up her neck. Andy drags her teeth, gently, over it, until she reaches the older woman's jawline. At this point, Miranda's small twitches have turned to monumental tremours.

"I've missed you," Andy dares to say, as she nuzzles behind Miranda's ear. She knows Miranda likes it here, but the golden hoop earrings make it difficult to reach it. Thank God that she's wearing pearls today.

Miranda's only response is a strangled gasp, and her nails are digging into her back. It only hurts a little bit, because they've both learnt to keep their nails short.

Andy kisses Miranda's cheekbone, grazing it with a bit of her tongue. Miranda's eyes flutter shut, and she inhales sharply.

Tracing the cheek with a thumb, Andy finally kisses Miranda properly, her lips meeting the older woman's. There's the slight tang of her lipstick, coffee from this morning, and Andy welcomes it by parting her mouth further.

Miranda reciprocates it, quickly and desperately. Andy pulls away, and the older woman actually whimpers, pulling her in for another searing kiss.

Andy allows it, but breaks it again. The rumpled fabric of Miranda's plum dress has slid off one shoulder, giving her full access to that pale flesh. She delivers a series of quick, open-mouthed kisses to the elegant slope of her shoulder, and Miranda falls back against the wall.

"Ungh," she says, panting like a dog. Then with hands that shake violently, she unfastens the leather belt around her waist. Andy drags her dress down, peeling it off painstakingly slow. She stops once it's been shimmied down to Miranda's waist, and returns to her neck, only this time with a different destination in mind.

Miranda tugs at her dress again, clearly wanting it off her.

"Not until I say so," Andy tells her, pausing briefly. "Be patient." She experimentally licks the top of Miranda's breast, keeping her tongue firm.

"Oh god," Miranda moans, threading her fingers through Andy's hair. Andy continues, saliva dripping down her chin as she nibbles and laves her tongue, taking care to only touch and taste the skin not covered by the black lace of Miranda's bra.

"I want more of this," Andy says, pulling on one of the spaghetti straps. "I want all of you, Miranda."

"Yes, yes, I'll give you everything." Miranda's practically wailing. With her permission, Andy unfastens the clasp of Miranda's bra, and it falls to the floor unceremoniously. Andy is suddenly reminded of where they are, and how they could be caught at any moment. But with Miranda underneath her, a sobbing mess, with taut nipples, and soaked chest, Andy can't do anything but keep going. They have to finish what they started, because they need it, and this might be the last time Andy will ever have this opportunity.

She takes one of Miranda's nipples in her teeth, rolling it until it hardens. Miranda moans. Really loudly.

"Shhhh," Andy says, switching breasts. She repeats what she's done before, until Miranda cries out, her head slamming back against the wall. "Oh, oh, Andrea!" Her hold on Andrea loosens as she unravels, going slack and eyes pressing shut. Andy carefully watches Miranda chase after every wave of pleasure, her back arching up and down against that wall, chest rising up until it inevitably falls.

Miranda's panting, white hair sticking to her forehead in sweat and saliva. Her body's flushed everywhere, angry, red marks courtesy of Andy, makeup absolutely ruined. Andy decides she's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen, and kisses her on that slightly crooked nose.

"Oh," Miranda breaths, and falls into Andy's arms. She licks her lips, looking up at Andy with glowing eyes filled with wonder. Andy wonders if she's surprised as she is, that Miranda came just from that.

"You're- you're-" Miranda shakes her head. "How do you do that?"

"I don't know," Andy answers her. She can't stop herself from kissing Miranda on the cheek, and brushing her hair out of her face. She loves Miranda's hair, especially when it's messy like this.

Miranda opens her mouth, then closes it. She pulls Andy in for another kiss, but it's different than the earlier ones. Her lips only caress, seeking nothing. It's tender and delicate, bursting with affection, and Andy can't think about anything about how warm she feels all over.

"Finish up in here," Miranda says when they pull away. "I'll be waiting for you." Andy's jaw goes slack, and she watches as Miranda bring herself back together with astonishing poise and efficiency. The older woman bends down to pick up the discarded bra, grabs some makeup from a nearby table, and reapplies it without hesitation.

She saunters to the door, then freezes in the doorway. "Don't be too long, Andrea," she says, her face only visible in profile. Then she smirks and walks off, leaving Andy incredulous.

Andy stumbles over herself to make herself presentable again, and all but runs out of the Closet. Then she remembers the skirt she was supposed to get earlier, hastily grabs it, and rushes back out.

In the hall, she passes by Nigel, who stops her with a hand. "Whoa, Six, where's the fire?"

"Miranda's the fire," Andy finds herself saying inanely, but Nigel laughs, and shifts the stack of binders in his arm.

"Of course," he says with a grin. "Well, don't let me hold you up. Put out the fire before the Runway building burns down. God knows how devastated we'd all be if that happened." Nigel winks, but it looks a little painful.

"Sure thing, Nige." Andy can't stop herself from smiling. "Hey, we still on for drinks tonight?"

"Obviously." Nigel rolls his eyes. "Catch you on the flipside, kid. Good luck with Miranda." He departs with a wave.

When Andy reaches Miranda's office, she sees the older woman perched on the ledge of her window, looking out. As soon as she takes a step in, Miranda swivels her head to look at her, in that same way that makes her want to jump with joy.

Then she gives Andy one of those rare smiles that reaches her eyes and lights up her whole face. Andy's in awe of the effect Miranda has on her; with just a smile or look she falls apart, her insides going gooey with warmth.

They greet each other with a languid kiss, their previous urgency forgotten, and Miranda's hand rubs her back in soothing circles.

"Hey," Andy says, elation making her feel as light as a feather. Her voice comes out as a bubbly laugh.

Miranda's lips curve into another radiant smile. "Hello, darling."


End file.
